She is Cold and Distant, but her Mind Travels

I have nothing for you today.
No words of affection
nor thoughts most fond…
No love, no hatred, no empathy.

I nothing you.

Swallowed By the Beguiling Sea

The advice she gave me rattles through,
shaking the dust and cobwebs
from the furthest corners of my brain.
Such a strange thing, it is, to realize
you are dying.
Stranger still to watch it happen.
Pressed up against the glass,
we peer into your life
pouring hopes and anxieties
sobering our emotions.
Death is painful,
agony’s brilliance, sparking into
all of the scattered memories
felt but not seen.
Removing all but fear,
we grasp each other,
trying to come to terms with your
newfound truths,
whispering and hiding tears,
falling without our consent.
How odd it must be to be grieved
still living, watching as your family
and friends say goodbye.

Waiting for death to finally take you,
and he sits in a corner,
politely waiting for your sister to get here.
He tries to be unseen,
holding still as a statue
cutting the fabrics of time and space,
to collect the ones he needs.

Why do we pretend that life is full of meaning
when none of us really understand ourselves?
Each dogmatic, spiritualistic, and philosphical response
falls short, and few of us are ever
truly awakened.

I feel as if I have been cast
deep into the depths
of a monstrous sea.
Fortune guides me into the eye
and I watch the zypher and the storm
swirling around me, whipping my hair into my face.
I clutch to my small bouy,
upset by the tempest waves,
thrown toward the blackening depths, crushing weight of water, overhead,
and I struggle.
I fight for my life, my will to live, clawing at the water in attempt to surface, kicking furiously.
Lungs are burning, breath is lost,
and finally fatigue sets in.
Gravity pulls me down, further than
I would have ever imagined going
and I am helpless, sightless, and defeated.
I sit at the bottom and wait
and hope I am forgotten.
Nothing is more painful
than watching people you love

The loudest conversation

Isn’t it funny we say so much,
thinking our words mean nothing;
when, in reality what might be insignificant to us,
evolves eternally in others?
Simple phrases stay stuck in my craw.
I mull them into a fine powder,
mixing them into a tall glass of water,
and savoring their attatchments.
I feel every word you say to me
sometimes like a warm embrace
others are laced with jealousy,
a pinging sensation in my brain
hammering the thoughts as strikes.
I just want a conversation that I become lost in,
but what I get are these expectations
social cues that I miss,
and my relationships will falter.
What hurts most of all,
is when we speak,
and you think I’m not aware you’re lying.
It’s little things, like a sudden look, the way your voice seems to sway, and then you try to cover up.
We try to speak so civily,
but what’s not being said
   speaks louder.